The food at Bar Takito is wonderful. But waiting for it to arrive is a real adventure.
by Aimee Levitt
Before I started working for newspapers, I thought that being a food critic conferred upon one a certain kind of power: the ability to strike fear into the hearts of restaurant employees and send them scurrying to do one's bidding, like in the scene in Ratatouille when Anton Ego finally comes to the restaurant, or the part in Ruth Reichl's critic-in-disguise memoir Garlic and Sapphires when she finally gets so disgusted with a restaurant's snooty service and terrible food that she pulls off her wig and unleashes her famous long, dark mane —and mythic New York Times-enhanced superpowers. Reviewing restaurants is not like that, I am sorry to report.…[ Read more ]